Tag: masochism

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Three times

Saturday afternoon, we successfully extracted Belle Fille from the regional airport. She’d spent the better part of a full day coming back from the other side of the world and felt like it. We whisked her home and shortly had her soaking in a hot, sudsy bath.

One of my favorite non-sexual ways to service her is to wash her hair. I don’t do it like they do at the salon. For me, getting her hair clean is secondary to the main event which is to massage her scalp, neck and shoulders and spend as much time as possible just touching her. I sit behind so I have full access, but I have to be careful since I have strong hands and she prefers a firm yet gentle touch. In any event, after I had washed and rinsed and had just finished applying the conditioner, I was cradling her head by holding her along the jawline just under her ears. I was experiencing the greatest urge to reach down and touch her naked body. My fingers remembered the feel of her pussy and I knew I could be there in seconds. There was a time when I would have done just that, but I resisted. I resisted even reaching down and touching her breasts which were bobbing there, half covered in bubbles and water. I just sat there, holding her, my head down, and let all these desires resonate within me. I wanted her badly, and she knew it.

“I used Pink three times while I was gone,” she said quietly.

That got my attention. My head snapped up. “What?”

“Three times,” she repeated. “I used Pink three times.”

I had several opportunities to talk to her over the course of her trip and she never said anything about this. She told me how busy and tired and stressed she was so I assumed she never got around to it. Assumed and not surprised. But no! She did. Three times. The realization of this flooded through me. She, of course, has no restrictions against sexual pleasure of any kind. I suffered while she was gone, unable to sleep or think about anything but her, while she was half a world away with a vibe sticking out of her pussy. The searing inequity of our predicaments burned and delighted me.

—

Saturday night, she was finally next to me in bed. Finally, I could turn over and see her there. My former self, feeling what I was feeling, would have been nothing but hard-charging hands, but this new me just laid there, smiling, and taking the occasional kiss.

Her lips. Oh, god, her lips. Knowing as I did that I was not going to archive orgasm that night – indeed, that I wouldn’t even come out of the CB-6000 – everything else about her was amplified in my mind. The touch of her lips on mine was exquisite. The smell of her breath, the taste of her mouth…all of these details that might normally be missed or minimized on the way towards the inevitability conclusion of the past became my entire reason for being there. Her. All of her. And whatever she wanted or needed.

It’s cliche, of course, but life with orgasm denial is about the journey, not the destination. It’s about driving the slower, scenic route instead of the highway or deciding to cross the country via rail instead of jet plane. Slower travel means greater anticipation for the arrival, but it also means taking the time to absorb the dozens of little details from along the way and letting them – the small pleasures – accumulate and outweigh the one that’s big, simple, and selfish. So I smelled her, felt her, tasted her, and loved every fiber of her – all through my lips.

Eventually, she told me to get naked. I did and embraced her fully, feeling her body against mine – finally! – and pressed into her the hard plastic that had become my manhood. We kissed even more passionately and I felt pressure build in the tube. She started to claw me. Driving her nails into the flesh around my groin, raking them across my back, ribs, and ass. Twisting, pulling, and stretching my nipples. Heavenly. Finally, she took firm hold of my trapped scrotum and began to squeeze it hard while chewing on my neck. The flood of sensory input quickly overloaded me and I actually screamed blissful agony into her pillow. She stopped and I collapsed, panting, glowing, warm with her abuse.

After I collected myself, I said, “Funny, I imagined something sweet and gentle on your first night back.”

“Starting now, it will be,” and she pulled up her top.

Cutting to the chase, I don’t think I’ve ever felt her wetter. Using my hands (and wishing they were my mouth), she started to make sounds like she was coming. They went on and on. Minutes ticked by. Eventually, it ended with a flushed, exhausted crescendo.

Hang it from an aircraft carrier, boys: Mission accomplished.

—

Sunday night and I’m making dinner while she sips her wine and reads Denying Thumper at the bar. She hasn’t spent much time looking at all the thousands of words I wrote for her while she was gone. Too busy, she says. Fine, I think. Not that it would have taken much time, but I guess I’d rather be here with her when she sees first sees them. Nervously, I watch her for reaction. Whenever she give little laugh, I ask, “What?” I walk behind her to see where she is. The waiting is killing me.

When she gets the end of the last entry, she’s crying. I’ve moved her. I come around and hold her and kiss her and thank her for being with me, even though I’m annoyingly complicated and high maintenance. She says I’m her favorite person in the word and she isn’t a big fan of simplicity, anyway.

After dinner, I ask to be released for hygiene purposes. We’re in the bathroom and I’ve got my encased unit exposed, waiting for the key, when she pulls my head down by the hair and just looks into my eyes. She’s waiting for something. Ouch. What is it? Oh! I tell her my phrase, the one that reaffirms my purpose and position. She releases my hair and unlocks the device.

“Tonight, you’re going to rub my back and massage my feet and then I’m going to sleep, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After the cleaning, I bring the lock back to her. She likes to be the one to make it click. We’re in our room and she’s got me by the hair again. Quicker on the on uptake this time, I say the magic phrase and she locks me up. Without warning, she has me by the balls. Really, she’s got my poor, stretched balls in her grip and she’s pulling HARD.

“How was the shower?”

I’m processing the question and the pain at the same time. I don’t really answer as much as I utter an incoherent sound.

“How. Was. The. Shower?” SQUEEZE.

“GOOD! It was good, thanks,” and she releases me.

“That’s nice,” as she leaves the room.

Finally, later that evening, after the massaging is over and she’s smelling of scented oil and is all rubbery and relaxed, I ask her about my release schedule. Was she serious about three times in 2009? No, not exactly. Three more times is what she meant.

I will get to come three more times this year.

I shudder at the thought. The chastity tube instantly starts to throb painfully. Three times. For real. I will only have three more orgasms all fucking year. I’m turned on and terrified. Can I do this? I’m babbling and fumbling and scared as hell while trying to process that yes, for real, she’s serious. She will come and come and I will…wait.

“I know you’re always trying to be an over-achiever,” she says, not incorrectly. “This’ll give you something to blog about, won’t it?”

Fucking christ. What have I done?

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Chastise me

As if you didn’t already know, this post is related to the task my Belle Fille gave me prior to leaving on her trip. I am to write on my blog specific things I want her to do to me. I’ve decided, since these posts are specifically to her and for her, that I’ll write them that way. Also, I’m breaking them up into related themes. I’ve covered orgasm denial, pain, bondage, and domination so far. This time, chastity.

—

Belle,

I very purposefully tried to leave chastity out of the previous posts since it’s the crossroad for everything that has come before. It’s the vortex where all my sexual perversions swirl together. With one little piece of polycarbonate, you deny me, hurt me, bind me, and dominate me.

  • Denial. It’s absolute. Not only am I denied orgasm, I’m denied any pleasurable contact whatsoever with my cock. Many times my frustration has been so great that I’ve clawed at the thing or run my fingers over the hard plastic tube as if I was stroking myself. I’m not trying to come when I do that, I’m just trying to achieve some kind of satisfaction. It’s pretty much impossible. Plus, as an added bonus, I am also denied your touch which I crave. When you lock me up, my cock might as well not even exist. You have no idea how many of my buttons that pushes.
  • Pain. The pain comes most intensely from the inevitable stifled erections, especially the ones at night. At first, these tortured me and caused me quite a bit of consternation. Now, though, I’ve be able to rationalize the pain as a symbol of my service and devotion to you. I’ve given you my cock and you’ve chosen to encase it in plastic. The pain I feel is from you, even when you’re sleeping peacefully next to me. Not to be dismissed is the lower level pain I experience all day long from trying to live with a hard plastic device strapped to a very tight spot. Sitting for too long will cause the skin trapped by the ring to burn. My jeans will push the entire contraption into my pelvis when I drive the car which eventually leaves me aching. The skin on my scrotum can be painfully stretched (which is why it feels so thick and leathery when you eventually let me out). I now look forward to all that pain and miss it when I’m out of the device.
  • Bondage. What is the device except a hyper-specialized implement of bondage? When I’m in it and fully aroused and it’s pulling up and away from my body, all the flesh tight and burning, the pressure in the tube seemingly strong enough to explode its seems…yes, that’s delicious. If bondage is basically the acquiescence of physical control to another, then a device like the CB6K may be one of the most perfect bondage toys ever devised. At least it’s the one with the best ROI.
  • Domination. Of course, it’s on me because you dominate that part of my body. You own it. I am reminded constantly, 24 hours a day of that arrangement. Having to always shift when I sit looking for a more comfortable position, being careful not to let it show as it presses in sharp relief through my jeans, always worrying if I’ll be able to relieve myself successfully – it is with me all the time, and so is your control over me.

I have a love/hate (but mostly love) relationship with the thing. I find it’s a relief to get it off, but shortly afterward I wish it was back on. It pisses me off and is a constant distraction, but I pine for it when it’s not there. I’m not saying I want to wear it 24/7/365, but I am saying I want to wear it more than I have recently. Before you left on your trip, you talked about locking me up for the duration of your absence. I begged off citing the still-fresh piercing, but the threat of being encased made me realize how badly I missed wearing it. So much so that I put it on Sunday night and will wear it until you tell me to take it off again. I’m pretty sure my piercing has finally healed enough to allow it (I promise, I’m not pushing it). I’ll be keeping an eye on it to be safe, but last night as I lay in bed with it clamped around my meat, it was like sleeping with a security blanket. You’re on the other side of the world, but still in control of the cock I gave you.

If you’re serious about drastically reducing my orgasmic productivity in 2009, then please leave me in the device for longer periods of time, especially if we’re not going to be together (I wouldn’t mind if I had to wear it every time we’re apart for longer than a day). My longest stint in there has been eight days. Why not fourteen? Or twenty-one? Eventually, I’d like to see what more than a month in lock-up feels like. There’s even a part of me that would like you to lock me away and enjoy all the other ways I can pleasure you so much that you forget all about my little prisoner for an indefinite period. What’s the longest you could leave me in there, anyway? Remember what I said about pushing my boundaries?

I know one of the reasons you let me out is because you crave the feeling of me in you. There’s a part of me that enjoys knowing you’re feeling just a tiny sliver of the denial I am (albeit it a very, very tiny sliver). That being said, there’s no reason why you need to be denied. You can let me out just for your pleasure and then lock me back up again immediately afterward. Even better, I would love you to make me fuck you with a strap-on. The thought of being supplanted by a thing that – based on a comparison of popular features – is superior to my own perfectly serviceable organ while it strains uselessly beneath the newcomer…oh god, I may swoon.

Eventually, I’d like to get a different chastity device. One made of steel and built with my PA piercing in mind. Regardless of what it’s made of or how it works, though, the fact that the device itself embodies all my kinks all rolled up into one neat package makes it the big kahuna of my sexual fetishes. Thank you for letting me wear it.

Yours in every way,
Thumper

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Hurt me

This post is related to the task my Belle Fille gave me prior to leaving on her trip. I am to write on my blog specific things I want her to do to me. I’ve decided, since these posts are specifically to her and for her, that I’ll write them that way. Also, I’m breaking them up into related themes. Yesterday, it was orgasm denial. Today, pain.

—

Belle,

As we’ve already established, I like it when you hurt me. So far, this has been mostly confined to pain you’ve inflicted with your hands (pinching, scratching, squeezing), and that’s been good. But I want more. Here’s a list of all the ways I can think of at the moment that I’d like to play with you:

  • Nipples. I love it when you pinch and twist my nipples. You’ve really let yourself go lately and, in fact, have left them raw and stinging all the next day. That’s good! However, I also like the little chrome clothespins we bought. They’re very strong and create a different kind of pain. A longer, burning intensity that builds over time. Also, don’t forget the little clamps attached by the chain. Put them on me and then pull on the chain. Stretch my nipples. They like that.
  • Biting. You know how I feel about this. You can bite me anywhere, any time. What you do to my neck is glorious, especially when it leaves a mark. In fact, feel free to leave marks where they’ll show. I might be ashamed by them, but that’s OK. None of your concern. When you bite my ass, it sends me over the moon. There may be nothing I like better. Bite it harder. You can also bite my earlobes, my ribs, my hips, and my inner thighs. Oh, and don’t forget the nipples again. They’re little sluts, my nipples.
  • Nuts. Recently, you’ve started squeezing my balls. I like that. You can squeeze them harder. It’s a unique pain and one I only want you to inflict on me. Squeeze them, slap them, abuse them. We should read that book you leafed through who’s pictures horrified you. There are so many ways to torture the cock and balls. Binding them with thin rope, in particular, is something I’d like you to do to me.
  • Flogging. That little flogger you bought in San Francisco turned out to be a more serious toy than I thought it would be, but I want to try something heavier. I want you to flog my ass, my chest, the insides and back of my thighs, my upper back, and even my balls. I want you to raise welts on me. I want it to sting the next day. I want you to mark me.
  • Spanking. That nice, wide, heavy wooden Aveda brush? Spank my ass with it. Spank me until my ass glows. You can also use your hands or one of my leather belts. I spanked myself once with my own belt in a hotel room. It was hard, but I managed it. Belts leave lovely marks behind and the sound of them cracking over skin is heavenly.
  • Slapping. Feel free to slap me. What is slapping, anyway, except spanking for the face? Am I accidentally being too rough on your nipples? Am I whining too much for you? Begging just a little more than you’d like? Pull me up by my collar and slap me across the face. Then kiss me.

Regarding pain of all sorts, remember that I want you to push me. When I ask for it to end, tell me you’d like to see me accept a little more. When I beg, tell me how much it would mean to you if I endured it longer still. This I will do – want to do – for you.

In every way yours,
Thumper

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Deny me

I’m going to ease my way into my task and start with the basics (and the one area we’re already doing pretty well in). In short, I want Belle to deny me my orgasms.

Last night, after all the emotional turmoil and crying and stuff, just as we were spooning in bed and starting the long slide into sleep, I asked Belle what the fewest number of orgasms was that she’d let me have over the new year. Without missing a beat, she said three. Three. Total. Not three more. So, I’ve already burned 33% of this theoretical minimum. Shit! I don’t think she was kidding. If she really does keep me to this insanely small number, then she will come fifty times more often than me. I get a little light in the head just thinking about it. As a matter of fact, moments after she said that, my cock was rock-fucking-hard. Harder than it’s been in a really long time. We’re talking, Man of Steel hard. She noted that not only was I hard, I actually dribbled a little precum from merely considering only coming three times in twelve months.

So yeah, we’re doing well here. She’s getting off on not letting me get off. She likes the control. Likes how frustrated I get. Likes how it gives her power over me. She wants to be the calmly collected one while I’m all hot and hard and struggling for composure. In fact, I have zero complaints about this intersection of my kink and our sex life. I’m not even sure it still is just a kink. There’s an almost transcendental aspect to decoupling orgasm from sex and letting the urge build within. I love how it makes me think and feel and how it changes the way I treat Belle.

There’s just one thing I’m going to work on in the new year. I’m going to truly let go of thinking about coming or not. I’ve often found myself worrying that she’s going to tell me to come when I’m not ready or perhaps not let me on a night I expect it. From now on, I won’t even consider it to be an option. The next one might be tomorrow or it might be in a year or maybe never again. If she’s in control of them, then she’s in control. I need to absolutely release authority to her.

I would ask that she give me some warning before letting me get a release. As I’ve said before, I feel as though my approach to non-orgasmic sex is different than “normal” sex. My head’s just not in the right place to come. Hopefully, she’ll keep that in mind. If not, then I’ll deal with it.

Adjunct to orgasm denial is the ruined orgasm. Since the task left to me was to give Belle actionable things I want done to me, then I’ll add this to the list. According to Wikipedia, a ruined orgasm is one that is “unsatisfactory, awkward or even painful to experience”. There are four ways I’d like to experiment with having my orgasms ruined. The first is one we’ve already done once. Immediately after I come, make me eat it. I won’t want to, but make me do it anyway. Probably the best way would be to scoop it up and put it in my mouth for me since I will be loathed to do it myself. (Afterthought: You could also try telling me I’m going to eat whatever I produce beforehand which will cause me resist the pleasure of the orgasm. Making me fight with my own body, as you do when you deny me my orgasm, turns me on.) The second method would be to jack me off to the moment just before ejaculation, and then let go and give me no further physical stimulation. Either I won’t squirt, in which case I’ll be excellently edged, or I will, but won’t feel the same orgasmic pleasure from it. The third method would be to inflict pain at the moment of ejaculation. The best way might be to have me jack off and then grab my balls and squeeze the fuck out of them right when I start to come. I like this kind of stimulation when I’m aroused, but to do it during ejaculation will most certainly take away the pleasure. The fourth method is overstimulation. This one involves jacking me off until I come but then continuing to stroke me using my own ejaculate as lubricant, preferably concentrating on the head of my cock. Honestly, this one will probably require I be strapped down since I will fight it, but if you do it for even just an extra 20 or 30 seconds, that orgasm will be thoroughly ruined.

You might ask why. Why in god’s name would anyone want this done to them? Well, you could similarly ask that question regarding everthing I want, but in this case it’s primarily about you asserting your dominant position over me and what happens to my cock. Not only can you allow me to come, but sometimes, you can ruin the event for me. That’s the level of control you have over my pleasure. Not only that, but it hits all my unfairness buttons, too. If I’m only allowed a very limited number of orgasmic events, how terrible is it that you won’t even let all of them be satisfying?

Note: As far as I can tell, many who practice BDSM and ruined orgasms wouldn’t actually consider one that is ruined to have been a real orgasm. You can use that info any way you like, especially when it comes to math.

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Three nights

Saturday
Following the pathetic squirt, I got my mulligan. Belle strapped me to the bed and used her nails and teeth on me. Only the second time being tied down, I can report still thinking it’s pretty great. At one point, the cock became turgid and she remarked, “God, you really do like this!”

As before, I never got really hard from what she was doing, but I enjoyed most of it. The nails on my ass and digging into my scrotum were awesome, but raking them across my chest not so much. As we’re figuring this out, it’s interesting to me to find that some sensations are good only in certain places.  I regret that she didn’t bring the flogger out, and afterward, so did she. Anyway, she was absolutely vicious with my nipples. So wickedly cruel, in fact, that I had to ask her to stop, which is a first. Damn near twisted the things right off. They stung for 24 hours. Delicious.

She let me jerk off when she was done, but unlike the night before, I could never get there. I really wanted to, but the damned piercing was bugging me again. Not hurting as much as just feeling weird and not right. I can only assume this is part of the healing process and that it won’t feel weird forever. In any event, I did not come. As I went to soak the piercing later I found I had leaked precum, but through the little pierced hole, not the one on the end of the cock. I went to bed frustrated.

Sunday
We spent the afternoon and evening at a family holiday party at Belle’s uncle’s house. She had more than her fair share of wine and, in the car on the drive home with the kids in the back seat, started drawing letters on the top of my hand resting on the shifter.

P, I, N, K

Pink? Oh! Pink, the vibrator. Cool, she wanted me to use Pink on her when we got home. We’ll see if she falls asleep first, I thought.

P, I, N, K, O, R, C…

Pink orc? Huh. Does she want to watch Lord of the Rings while I get her off? I shook my head indicating I wasn’t reading her.

P, I, N, K – yeah, got that – O, R, C…

“Orc?” I said. She shook her head. Our exit was about a mile off at this point, so I told her to just wait.

Turns out, she was trying to tell me she wanted Pink or the cock, she just never got past the C before I gave her a weird look. In bed, she decided on Pink, not the cock (sigh) since, she informed me, tonight it was all about her. Working her nipples with my mouth and left hand, I ran Pink over her clit with my right. Her moaning and gyrating hips encouraged me to fuck her with it and she shortly came to a quiet yet intense climax. With the cock hard and pressed against her, she pulled down her top, pulled up her bottoms, rolled over and went to sleep. I’m not even sure she said thanks.

Monday
Laying in bed. After some talking, she tells me to get under the sheets and get naked (since I’m always supposed to be naked in bed). She starts to rub the underside of the cock, pressing it into my stomach. It’s getting harder and I’m making little moaning sounds. “Quiet,” she says. “No sounds.”

Oh, god. I’m normally pretty vocal in these kinds of situations and suddenly finding myself having to bottle it all up was infuriating. The simple sensation of her rubbing the cock on just one side with only two fingers seemed to multiply in its intensity. After a few minutes of this I realized it might actually make me come and the tiniest little Whoville squeak leaked out of me. She immediately withdrew her hand leaving me hard and throbbing. My fun was over. Now I know the rules to that game.

Feeling pretty turned on, I rubbed my hand across her shirt and felt the hardening little nub of her nipple.

“Did you ask permission to do that?”

“Can I please touch you?”

“What do you say?”

I said our agreed-upon phrase that reinforces her dominant position in our sexual relationship and she pulled her pajama top up and assumed the now-familiar “serve me” position.

Again, it was all about her. I used my hands this time, not Pink. Her pussy was incredibly wet and the cock between my legs pulsed with the memory of sliding into it. After she came, I laid with my head on her chest and told her how badly I wanted to fuck her. She pulled down her top and pulled up her bottoms and told me I could touch myself, but not come.

As soon as I wrapped my hand around the hard cock, I knew – I knew – that this time, I could get there. But it was not to be. Not tonight, anyway. So I laid there and stroked while she rolled over and went to sleep.

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Pushy bunny

I got Belle a copy of The Mistress Manual by Mistress Lorelei. It was well-reviewed on Amazon and it’s just my thing to buy a lot of books whenever I’m trying to to grok a new subject, but it’s been sitting on Belle’s nightstand uncracked since it arrived so yesterday I picked it up and started reading it.

Mistress Lorelei suggested I stop. At least, to stop before I got to the juicy stuff. OK, I figured, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. But I was able to get through enough to know Belle’s not going to like some of what she has to say. First of all, Lorelei talks a lot about “sissy maids”. As I’ve said, I am not a sissy, do not want to become or be turned into one, and, in general, am not interested in doing all the housework (nor is she interested in me being a sissy). In addition to lauding the benefits of the live-in sissy maid, Lorelei also discusses the joys of dressing your guysub (her word – hadn’t seen that form of the term before) in women’s clothing (specifically, underwear). Again, not burning with a desire to wear lacy panties and Belle’s never suggested I should. We don’t have a problem with guys who do, but it’s not an idea that trips either of our triggers. However…

Mistress Lorelei did help my thoughts coalesce around something I had not been able to put words around previously. While I’m not interested in doing all the chores, wearing panties, or otherwise being emasculated, I am turned on by Belle making me perform tasks or putting me in situations I’d never embrace on my own. I like the idea of her pushing me beyond where I’m comfortable. For example, when she forced me to eat my own come. Yes, eating come (my own included) turns me on, but it’s only a turn-on for me while I’m turned on. Approximately .25 seconds after it comes out of my body, the idea of eating it is about as arousing as is the idea of eating snot. She didn’t just ask me to eat it, though, she made me by smearing it over my lips. It was a marvelous moment where she spontaneously asserted her dominant prerogative. It was awesome and it’s one my favorite memories from our recent past.

This concept intersected with our life last night. Belle had already told me I was not going to service her, but she was being very generous with her attention towards me. She was clawing my ass, pinching my nipples, and jacking the cock (while avoiding the still-tender piercing). It was heavenly. I had asked (begged, really) to be allowed to go down on her, and she refused. Then, as she was biting and sucking on my neck (and leaving a nice little trail of marks down to my shoulder), the intensity of the feelings got to me and I begged to be able to do anything at all to her. I guess I didn’t really think she would let me, but I really, really wanted to and also wanted to hear her refuse me again. However, it didn’t turn out that way. She got pissed. Felt I was trying to control the action. I apologized and did my best grovelling bit, but she was fairly nonplussed. After she chewed me out for a while, accompanied by my continued pleas for mercy, she decided I had ruined the moment and would have to massage her feet with lotion before she went to sleep (which, you know, wasn’t all that bad either).

She may have been right. I may have been trying to steer the ship. It’s not uncommon for me to achieve a nice subbie headspace after we get started, but it’s not usually the case that I’m feeling submissive before we get going. Had I been grooving the guysub space, I don’t think I would have continued to beg her for access to her body. I might have tried once, but she was being pretty firm with her refusal. I doubt I would have pushed it. Maybe that little voice in my head that hoped she would capitulate and let me go down on her was playing a bigger role than I thought. Had she directed me to leave my comfort zone beforehand – to jump-start my submissive tendencies – I probably wouldn’t have pushed her so hard.

So, to tie all this together, I had never really appreciated why dommes made their subs do things like kneel or kiss their feet before a scene. Since I didn’t feel a terrific desire to bow before Belle or worship her feet (not, at least, until getting warmed up a bit), I figured that her forcing me to do them wouldn’t find a place in our relationship. In fact, I continue to think too much about my interests and desires. No, I don’t instinctively want to bow to her, so she should make me do it. Since sucking on her toes is usually something I need to warm up for, she should make me do it before anything else. We both need strategies that will allow her to assert her dominance, not for my pleasure, but to ensure I don’t usurp her authority.

Because of last night, there’s a phrase that reiterates our power-sharing arrangment that she’s requiring me to say before I’m allowed to do anything with her. At first, I felt silly and somewhat embarrassed saying it, but by about the third time it came out of my mouth, it sank in as to why I needed to say it. And, in turn, why I needed to write this.

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Safewords

Better safe than sorry. Since we’ve now introduced bondage and pain into our sex lives, it seems like the right time to establish safewords. Since my Belle’s not into receiving pain, I think her’s is especially appropriate.

Thumper’s safeword: Belle Fille’s real name.

Belle Fille’s safeword: Ouch.

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Crossing the Rubicon, Part 3

[This is the last part of a three-part post. You might want to read the first and second parts first.]

I chose to call this series of posts “Crossing the Rubicon” because of what happened on the morning of the last day of our weekend. As I’ve written in the past, being tied up is one of my oldest and deepest desires. I’ve never been tied up by anyone before, though it’s been part of my fantasy life and a major player in the porn I enjoy since as long as I can remember. I did bring it up to Belle early in our relationship, but her reaction caused me to put it back in the dark hole in my psyche from whence it came. She wasn’t actively opposed to the idea, but I sensed trepidation and maybe some fear. I let it drop. Now, all these years later, it was back to the surface. I had told Belle everything I wanted done to me and she had shown sympathy and a willingness to try, if not a comprehension of what motivated me.

On her trip to San Francisco, Belle had purchased some light bondage gear. Basically, some simple tethers with clips on the ends and four velcro cuffs with attached rings. Nothing too severe, but inexpensive and packaged in an accessible and non-threatening fashion. It was my understanding that we’d finally put these to use over this weekend, though the opportunity I thought most obvious had come and gone due to too much drink and hot water. Sunday morning, she indicated we’d finally take the plunge.

To me, this was synonymous to the first time I had sex. I had wanted to do this for so long and now the time had finally seemed to come. I asked if she wanted me to prepare the room, and she said I should while she made her coffee, ate her cereal, etc. Back in the bedroom, I tried to figure out the best configuration of the tethers. Our bed was king-sized with no headboard or footboard (like we have at home). I eventually attached the tethers to the legs of the bed frame, but I found by laying them out and trying different poses that I’d be stretched into an extreme spread-eagle position. I bound one ankle and one wrist to make sure it was even physically possible and the sudden reality of the moment finally struck me. I found myself incredibly nervous and self-conscious. Ironically, as I was preparing the bed in a way to maximize my physical vulnerability, I discovered a deep well of emotional vulnerability. Doubt crept into my mind. Was this going to be fun? Did she really want to do it? Maybe this was the wrong time. I tried to put those thoughts aside as I finished the preparations. I went back out to the living room and waited.

It seemed to me, as the minutes ticked by, that Belle was dragging her feet, just as I suspected she had dragged her feet with regard to bondage all along. Finally, after she had exhausted just about every delaying excuse possible, she sat down next to me on the couch by the fire. She said she wanted me to know that she was “sexed out” and not interested in further penetrative activities with me. That’s what she said, but what I heard was a serious lack of interest on her part and felt she was trying to work her way out of the event. It played directly into my doubts and fears and vulnerability. I told her maybe we shouldn’t do it since I was not interested in it if she wasn’t. There was only going to be one first time for this, I said, and if we couldn’t both be into it, I didn’t want it ruined. I was angry, scared, disappointed, and embarrassed to even be in that position. I started to cry. I was a mess.

In the past, that might have been it. I might have been impulsive and we might have fought and the entire event would have collapsed in a heap of resentment. Luckily, though, we kept talking. She told me she just didn’t want me disappointed if she didn’t come at the end of this. That she did want to do this, for me, but that she wasn’t interested in sex being a part of it. I told her who came and when was entirely under her control and, if played correctly, it was practically impossible for me to be truly disappointed. I told her that the erotic torture she had put me through the previous morning, upon being released from the CB6K, was all I was expecting with the only difference being this time I’ve be tied down. I sensed she was making this thing into a bigger deal than it needed to be. That I wanted to be tied down by her and only her and anything she did to me would be wondrous. All I wanted to do was share the experience with her, my love. That’s all.

Finally, I stopped crying. We had gotten past the road hazard and would continue the journey. She told me to go back to the room, get naked, lay on the bed, and wait. I did as she said and, while in the room alone laying nude in the middle of the big bed, felt a level of apprehension and anxious expectation unlike anything before. Involuntary shudders rippled across my body and my teeth were beginning to lightly chatter. She entered the room and I felt very naked, vulnerable, and exposed.

She started with my right wrist, then my left. I tested the restraint and found them to be light, yet quite secure. I knew I could not overcome them and the thought sent an electric wave through me. Next, she secured my right ankle, then my left. I tried to move and found my range of motion severely limited. Goosebumps broke out across my body. Finally, she placed a blindfold over my eyes and kissed me on the mouth. I was going to explode with anticipation.

I heard her move through the room. She seemed to be looking for something, but I didn’t know what. She left the room, then came back in. I heard the light switch go on and her rifling through our toy box. Then the light was switched off. I honestly had no idea what was going on or what she was looking for.

I felt something light and feathery brush against my chest. Was that a feather? Where the hell had that come from? She dragged it across my nipples, down my legs, across the cock and my balls. I instinctively moved my head as though, if I could just find the right angle, I’ve be able to see what was going on, but to no avail. Finally, I figured out that I was feeling the ends of a simple rubber flogger Belle had purchased along with the restraints. I had dismissed it as a novelty, but was happy she brought it out as it was totally unexpected and might be able to give me a mild stinging sensation.

Her first swing of the flogger did nothing to change my perception that it was a toy. It struck my chest with a light, almost tickling sensation. I found some pleasure from not being able to see it before it hit me, so the shock of the feeling was sudden and surprising. Each impact caused me to sharply intake my breath. Then, I was even more surprised to find the sting of the little flogger to be getting stronger. She started flailing on my left hip and upper thigh with rapid succession and then alternate with my right side. In fact, after a while, I felt myself actually approaching the limit to the amount of sensation I was going to be able to withstand. I writhed, moaned, growled, and barred my teeth as the pain’s intensity became almost more than I could bear. It occurred to me we had never established a safeword or any other way for me to tell her she had gone too far when, at the very moment I felt I was going to break, she’d move to another spot on my body or suddenly start gently brushing my skin with the feathery ends of the rubber strands. While all this was going on, I started to self-analyze my reaction. Was I enjoying this? Was it good for me? Oh god, yes. It was everything I had hoped it would be and more.

I felt the areas where she had struck me burn and sting and I felt the cock between my legs flop around. Interestingly, it didn’t get hard as I had expected, but it was flushed with blood and felt fat and heavy. She would occasionally concentrate the light sensation over my groin and I found myself simultaneously fearful she’d strike me there and hoping desperately that she would. She never did, but she did grab and pinch my nipples with a force I’d never felt her apply before. Did my restrained and vulnerable position give her greater strength or did it only feel it that way because I was helpless?

I honestly have no idea how long the flogging went on. She eventually grabbed the cock and started stroking it roughly. I had to ask her to be more gentle as somehow she had unknowingly crossed into bad pain. I felt the flogging portion of our session was over and that now I was expected to come, so I begged to have my hand released so I could bring myself to orgasm. At first, she declined, but I think the effort eventually got to her and she released my right hand. I was immediately stunned to feel how hard the cock in my hand was. It had been so long since I stroked it, but even so, this was bigger and harder than I had remembered it could get. My legs being spread made it harder to come, but she told me I’d have to do it the way I was. No more of me would be released. She started to twist my nipples and I finally felt the stirring of an orgasm start to build between my legs. When the orgasm finally came, I felt its sticky ropes fly across my stomach. I was panting, blind, and euphoric.

Belle released the other restraints and removed the blindfold. As she laid next to me, I felt the warmth of her skin and was surprised to find her naked. In addition, she had a light sheen of sweat over her from the exertion of the session. She snuggled in and I felt the comfortable warm afterglow of the orgasm wash over me…just as she scooped up a great glob of come and spread it across my lips. “Time for breakfast!” she said merrily. We both immediately burst out laughing as I told her through my sticky, gooey lips that the idea of eating my own come was admittedly more enticing before it came out of my body. I licked off my salty treat and felt my love for Belle Fille bursting inside me.

—

Later, we were back in the hot tub. As we climbed in, I showed Belle the welts she had raised on my skin. I was delighted, but she was taken aback. I reassured her that I loved the marks she had left and hoped to see more like them in the future. Venus and Mars, indeed.

As I sat there in the bubbling, steaming water and stared across the frozen lake, I felt a different kind of afterglow from our session. It wasn’t from the orgasm. It felt different. In fact, everything felt different. Belle had taken me across the Rubicon – the point of no return. She had popped my bondage and flogging cherries both on the same day. Thanks to her, I now knew what my fantasies really felt like. And they were better than I had hoped. It was almost half an hour later, and I realized I was still softly moaning to myself. It was as if I was purring like a happy cat laying in a sunbeam. The love of my life, my wife, my keyholder, my Belle Fille had brought me across the threshold to a new world.

And I was happy to be there with her.

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Sleeping in chastity

This single biggest thing I’ve had to get used to over the past four days of enforced chastity is sleeping. Thanks to my little acrylic friend, I now know that, due to nocturnal penile tumescence, I achieve three substantial erections over the course of any given night. These aren’t run-of-the-mill erections, either. They’re much harder, stronger, and of greater duration than normal boners and are totally disconnected to what I’m feeling or thinking. So far, they’ve been very regular – one at around 1:30, another at about 3:15, and the last at around 5:00. At those times, three forms of pain awaken me.

  1. My erection’s swelling causes pressure at the base of my shaft which, in turn, causes the cock ring to cut cruelly into me. As I said yesterday, there are two points of irritation forming on my cock and the swelling of my meat against the sharp edges of hard, unyielding acrylic is, I believe, the cause. Why oh why can’t the ring be rounded?
  2. The internal diameter of the tube is smaller than my cock. Therefore, it’s like having a vice on all 3.25″ of my dick that will fit within it. Additionally, there are three vents on either side of the tube near where it locks to the ring. These vents are purportedly there to allow for the circulation of air and to aid cleaning. However, when fully erect, the soft, fleshy tissue within extrudes out of them like Play-Doh. The edges of the acrylic are not sharp, but the constant intense pressure causes the edges to eventually bite. Also, the skin that pokes though is pulled tight and becomes very sensitive.
  3. As my erection lengthens, it pushes at the end of the tube and lifts the entire apparatus away from my body. This has the effect of pulling on my scrotum and causing its skin to be pulled smoothly tight. My testicles, unable to escape through the ring, are forced to the sides of my entrapment and rub, in their hyper-sensitive state, against my inner thighs.

This entire straining package lays throbbing between my legs seemingly all night long. As I shift from side to side, it ponderously flops back and forth. Laying on my back is the best bet, but I can’t sleep that way. I want to be on my sides or stomach. On my sides, it gets crushed between my legs or, if I push it out, pulls down on whichever side is opposite gravity. I can move further around so I’m partially on my stomach, but this ratchets up the sensations as it seems to cause more blood to flow into the area. I can lay fully on my stomach, but that means shoving the package down between my legs causing more constriction and, like before, greater engorgement.

Night before last, as all this was going on during the 5:00 AM shift, Belle turned to me in the bed and meant to place one of her legs between mine (entwining them as any loving couple might over the course of the night). Unfortunately, her knee came in a little too aggressively and collided against all the tight, constrained, and otherwise tortured flesh. I saw stars in the pitch black of our room. Oddly enough though, after the initial shock of impact, I felt myself enjoying the afterglow of pain.

And that’s the root of my new found observation. As I briefly mentioned yesterday, because Belle is forcing me to wear the device this time, I find myself actually looking forward to the pain. I like it when Belle inflicts pain on me during our lovemaking and, since I’m in chastity at her direction, it is, in essence, a form of lovemaking (at least in my twisted and hormone-fevered brain). The device is the physical manifestation of her control over me, so when I wake up in the middle of the night in pain, she’s giving it to me. It hurts, yes. Hurts a lot. But I’m starting to appreciate it. God help me, I’m starting to really enjoy it.

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Random thoughts on the CB-6000

Last time I wore the CB-6000, it was only for two days. This time, I’ve already gone 50% longer (do the math). Hardly a long term incarceration, but enough time to come up with some observations.

  • Going to the bathroom goes from a simple, quick act to a protracted operation. First, grab the Q-Tips. Second, sit down (grrr). Third, attempt to align penis slit with opening in tube. Fourth, pee. Sometimes, the stream is not strong since the device is somehow constricting the flow. At best, you have a 50-50 chance of starting a healthy, unimpeded stream. Otherwise, it’s spraying around and probably getting all over the inside of the tube, on your inner thigh, etc. Fifth, use Q-Tips to absorb as much moisture as possible inside the tube. Don’t forget to flush (at least leaving the lid up isn’t an issue).
  • It’s impossible to stop thinking about your cock when it’s locked up. From being awakened several times a night by nocturnal erections that will not go away, to constantly having to adjust the position of everything while sitting or driving, to simply feeling the weight of the device on your unit as you walk around, there just isn’t a time that my dick and its condition isn’t top of mind. This, I believe, is what’s known as irony. My cock gets locked up to make it a useless tube of meat and, in the process, it becomes the single most important thing in my world.
  • The ring is really starting to cause me some pain. I’m currently in the 1 7/8″ size and, even though I’m using May’s advice, I’m still seeing quite a bit of irritation just to the left and right of the base of my cock (about where my scrotum meets the sides of my shaft). I have been shaving in that area, so that may be contributory. I think the hard edge of the ring is to blame, though. I spent, like, 20 minutes today daydreaming how I could make the ring rounded.
  • Working out is not possible. I use an ellipse machine to exercise and found today that I was experiencing some testicular pain after about 10-15 minutes of moderate activity. This sucks. Everything I had read about this on other blogs was to the contrary.
  • Interestingly, now that I’m wearing the device because Belle is making me, all this doesn’t bother me as much as it did when I was wearing it just because. Even the nocturnal pain feels more sensual (or something) since it’s cause by something she ordered me to do. Weird.

Starting the third night in about 15 minutes. We’ll see how I feel about it in the morning…